my friend jim

I met Jim when I drove out to look for apartment not too far from Art Institute of Atlanta.  I had talked to him prior on the phone after receiving a list from the school of new students looking for places to live like myself.

Jim Byrant was 19 at the time.  I was about 27 years old.  We met face to face for the first time at a fast food joint.  After a vague and uninformative meeting, we decided to look around together for a place to live.  I didn't quite know how to take the guy.  I'm sure it was just as obvious to him as it was to me that we had little in common and that we came from different worlds.  It wasn't just the age difference.

Jim offered to drive us around because he grew up in Newnan, GA and was acquainted with the streets in Atlanta more than I was. It wasn't long before we found a place to live at Cherry Hill Apartments on Bufford Hwy.  We ended up having another roommate, who was a little younger than I was.  I soon discovered that I was the 'old man' around the Art Institute.  Most of the other students looked like they were just out of high school.

Whenever Jim and our other roommate Jeff went out to party, I'd stay home and study, read a book or watch television.  I've always have been quite the homebody.  Jim started jokingly call me 'dad' when he would leave to do his gallivanting.  I'd follow by telling him to drive safe - keep it in the road.  Even though we started out absolute strangers - we quickly figured we'd get along just fine together.

I think the differences faded as classes got underway and we found ourselves in the same classes, bringing the same assignments back to the apartment.  At first, I didn't know why Jim even got into graphic design.  The thought was rolling in the back of my mind that he was probably going to lose interest any day. I never saw him draw much.  I wasn't really impressed with his sketches.  At the time I thought people had to have a capacity to draw in order to become graphic artists.

I was wrong.

Jim ended up surprising me.  He didn't have to draw.  Jim was phenomenal at layout.  He quickly got the hang of design work.  His projects were always sharp looking pieces.  Working together soon made us buddies.  He was great at design and slick presentation and I was strong on concept and handy when it came to original illustration work.  We became a good team, like peanut butter and jelly.   I've always worked kind of fast and loose and Jim made sure everything was tight and polished.  I loved working with Jim.  This young fellow made me a better artists.

We were a dynamic duo when it came to projects.  Usually when instructors gave us an assignment, he or she would tell us to go and purchase specific materials we HAD to use for each project.  This got expensive fast.  Teachers didn't seem to acknowledge the fact that students had to eat too.  So my diversion from the official rules started early.  I decided that in order to eat, I was going to have to break the rules.  I decided I was going to start saving some big bucks and start being creative with the ever growing art material scraps back at our apartment.

Now Jim wasn't in the same financial bind that I was.  He had resources.  Since we always ended up helping each other with our assignments, he got into the game too. We challenged each other to not use the required medium/materials required and ace the projects in the process.  We made each assignment as a pass or fail endeavor.  If we got caught, we'd fail.  If we didn't, we'd pass.  We never failed. We always seemed to break all the given rules and present our projects to where the instructors couldn't tell we made up our own rules.  I didn't see it as cheating. We were having to work harder, challenge ourselves, be more creative to pull it off.  Our design projects were at the top of the class.  We were never caught and always made A's.

Along the way, Jim befriended another fellow that later became our roommate, Troy Williams.  Troy was an incredible artist and had a great eye for design and business.  Troy soon became my friend too.

Jim Bryant didn't finish his art training in Atlanta.  His dad drove him up to check out Parson's Art School.  Jim moved up to New York to finished his design training.  I only saw him a handful of times since those days.  Troy and I became roommates and Jim was out of the picture.

Jim ended up living in Manhattan, working at a prominent Ad agency with national clients.  He kept moving up, eventually running the entire agency.  Years later Jim moved back down south and worked for another large agency.  He also became a graphic designer for Coca-Cola.  Eventually he ended up away from the design table and in marketing end of the business.  Sharp fellow.
 
We'd keep in touch from time to time down through the years - but not often enough.  Anytime we did talk, it was as if no time had passed at all.  We were still buddies as the decades passed.  He became a very successful designer, a very sharp Ad man.  He knew the business more than I did.  When we talked, his projects seemed so interesting and adventurous.  He had come a long way from that kid I met that first day.

I had not talked to my friend in a very long time.  I Googled  his name online late this afternoon, hoping to find his phone number.  I found his obituary instead.

Mr. James (Jim) Bryant III
 
We were so very different from each other,  and I am thankful that life put us together for that short while.
 
I stayed at the office tonight and searched for family members on-line.  I had to know what had happened to Jim.  I tried to find his dad, or one of Jim's siblings.  After many failed calls to phones that no one answered - I found his brother Don.  Don Bryant remembered me, and was kind enough to take the time to tell me what had happened to his brother - my old friend.

Don said that Jim had an elderly neighbor across the street who looked like he needed help cutting down some branches.  At one point the neighbor went in to cool down and rest a little.  Jim offered to continue with the work.  After a while, Jim's neighbor noticed that the chainsaw had stopped.  Jim's truck was parked at the end of the drive, and that it was running.  Don guessed that maybe Jim got in the truck to run the A/C a little in order to cool off.  Jim's  young son came across the street to find his dad unconscious.  The neighbor got someone to get Jim's son away from the truck and back home.  Jim neighbor tried to resuscitate him.  It was no use..

Jim was rushed to the hospital, but there was nothing anyone could do.  Jim had suffered a massive heart attack.  My heart goes out to the Bryant family.  I am sorry for their loss.  I feel the loss too.

one family under God

Our old '92 Mazda minivan went haywire two and a half weeks ago.  It was due to some kind of weird electrical thingamajig going bad.  Like most families, we have to be in different places at the same time.  Life has been a juggling act as of late.  My wonderful mechanic Bill Noah says he finally located the part needed to fix our van.  We are driving everywhere in my 1973 Super Beetle.  Needless to say we have been a closer family as of late.

We leave home earlier in the day and come back later in the day.  We zip around Etowah County and leave each other off to get stranded at places until someone comes along with the ride.  It's not so bad, but it it's not so good either.

I am very thankful that we do have the car we have.  We are daily inconvenienced but getting along.  I sure wish our mechanic will call soon to say the van is good to go.  For a while there, I thought I'd be getting a call saying the part is no more - making the van no more.  I was relieved to hear that reliable Bill eventually found the part.

RULE Np: 1  If you want something in life, you've got to make sacrifices.

Gina and I wanted to have a business together.  This has always been our dream.  We opened our clinic doors in July of 2006 after Gina became a certified lymphedema therapist.  The new healthcare laws have dramatically limited what we can do for our patients.  The laws also cut therapist reimbursement.  Once again our government has seriously challenged our business.  We are currently looking into other avenues to invest in our company's future.

Gina and I realized a long time ago that we can't have everything we want now.  Like most privately owned business today, going through a bad economy, we have to daily endeavor to persevere.  There are a lot of people, a lot of small businesses in the same boat that we are.  We are not the only ones trying to stay afloat these days.  We are still manning the wheel, controlling the yard, doing our best to keep a steady course.  I just wish those clowns in Washington would quit drilling holes in our hull as they try out their grand social experiments.

After all this endeavoring, all this effort, I look at my old vehicles  and hope they have enough miles left in them to get us over and past this hard road ahead.  We will continue to make whatever sacrifices to make it to safer waters.  I pray for my family, my business.  I also pray for your family and your business.  I am praying for my country too.
 
"But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD.”- Joshua 24:15

God bless America.  Let's all do our part to keep her under God's protective wing and protection.

a new, old photo

Westbrook Finlayson & the Melodians

 Carrol Lee Melton, ?, Billy Duvall, ?, Ned Hickson, ?, King Reid, Jimmy Gainey, Steve Salvo, Charlie Adkins,  Westbrook Finlayson (crutches)

Beverly believes that Steve Salvo
is the fellow on the drums.

My cousin Beverly F. Triber, Wofford's daughter, just sent me this photo of one of dad's orchestra's.  This group preceded the H. Westbrook and His Orchestra.  Beverly jotted down some names beneath the photos with some guesses.  Pardon us if the names are wrong guesses.  Beverly said in her letter that these pictures were sent to her by the widow of a former band member, Steve Salvo.  You may recall that it was during a meeting with brothers Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey that it was suggested to change the name of Westbrook's band.  They felt that the name Finlayson should not be used, to pick a name that the public would not only be able to remember but to pronounce.

My uncle Pat died a little over a month ago.  Beverly found the above photo with a letter from Steve Salvo's wife.  It had been sent to him only months before Pat's passing.  The letter reads as follows:

Ainsworth,
Thomasine passed your letter along to me, I was so glad to hear from you and appreciate your words of sympathy.  Steve had a hard fight the last couple of years.  He always loved to talk about working at the movie with Jimmy and the rest of the crowd and playing with Westbrook's band.  I had a copy of the band made for you and Jennie Llew in case you do not have this picture.  I can remember the faces of the two boys in center back but not their names.  Some may have been substitutes - like Charlie Adkins for Fred Posten at the piano.

I guess at the end of the sweetest life long friends are the ones in our little class of 1938.  Hope  you are doing well.
Love,
Ouida

end time events

When Gina and I were married (September 1, 1990) we relocated to Bowling Green, KY.  We were working off of one car that day.  Gina had to see some patients at a nursing home and I needed to get a Kentucky driver's license at the court house.  Gina dropped me off at the court house and drove off.

I had to wait a while before I was eventually picked up by my bride.  Gina pulled up to the curb and I got in.  She immediately asked to see my new license.  She wanted to see the photo.  The light had turned green and she was holding up traffic.  I urged her to move along, that there was nothing to see.

Nothing to see?  "I want to see what your license looks like."  I encouraged her to drive and I would explain it to her.  As she drove, I told her that the State of Kentucky was doing something entirely innovative and new.  I told her that the DOT was modeling a new system of identification/licensing for the entire nation that didn't require a card.

Gina listened.  She just wanted to see my new license.  I told her that she couldn't see it with her naked eye.  The more I explained, the quieter she became.   I told her that even though she couldn't see it - I did get a license.  I got a permanent number.  I could tell that she was all the more puzzled as I explained it to her.  I told Gina that the number was imprinted on my hand, but could only be seen by infrared light.  I told her that it was a great idea because you can't ever lose the number like you could lose a billfold.  I explained the benefits of having this personal bar code mark in great detail and with believable enthusiasm.

She made an illegal U-turn.  I asked her what she was doing.  She told me that we were going back to the Warren County Court House to have them take it off!  I laughed and told her that it couldn't be removed - that it's permanent.  I'll have it till the day I die.  I can't explain the look she had on her face.  She turned white and looked ill.  She stopped the car and freaked out. "David, what have you done!"

It was at that moment I pulled my new drivers license out of my wallet and showed it to her.

a good time for a story

A few weeks ago we buried our uncle Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson.  A few years ago we made the same trip to Cheraw, South Carolina to say good-bye to Pat's older brother James Murdoch Finlayson.  While at the old St. David's Church, I remembered a Thanksgiving Day back in 1997 that all the Burruss & Jennie Wait descendants met in Cheraw for a family reunion.  It was a little over ten years ago.  The three remaining siblings, Pat, Murdoch, and Jennie Llew met us there.  It was a beautiful day for such a gathering.  We spent a leisure weekend there walking around the old township, driving down old neighborhoods and visiting the cemetery at the Old St. David's Church.  Everywhere we went, we paid close attention to catch a shared memory among the last of Burruss' children.  This is where they grew up. 

There is an old Confederate memorial there in the quiet of the Old St. David's Church.   I read where originally the monument did not mention Confederate soldiers because the area was still occupied by Union forces.  Cheraw has a lot of Civil War history.  After all,  the first call for secession in a public meeting was made at the Chesterfield County Courthouse. John A. Inglis of Cheraw introduced the resolution for South Carolina to secede. General Sherman later occupied the area, but didn't strike a match. There was a terrible fire that burned down much of the downtown district because of an accidental munitions explosion.  The Yankees of course were to blame, but it was an accident.  Sherman and his troops had taken a liking to town's charm.

The Old St. David's Church was used as a hospital for both Union and Confederate troops during the course of the war.  The church was also used as a hospital for the British during the Revolutionary War.  It's a very small town with abundant history.

The Confederate monument reads:
"To the memory of our heroic dead who fell at Cheraw during the war 1861-1865.  Loved and honored though unknown.  Stranger, bold champion of the South, revere and view these tombs with love; Brave heroes slumber here, Loved, and Honored, though unknown."

It was there at the monument where I found my uncles Pat and Murdoch standing together talking.  After spotting them it took me several minutes to reach them.  At the time I had no idea as to the significance of the monument or the spot where they were standing.  The way there were standing there made me wonder what they were talking about at that moment.

When I reached them they were just standing there close together in quiet thought.  I asked them what they had been talking about.  Both smiled while looking reflectively at the monument.  They both shared the story, interrupting with their own memories of Memorial Day's past.  They told how when they as children would march from their school to this monument with roses.  When they arrived, they would all scatter the peddles around the white marble obelisk, singing a special song for the occasion.

There were orations, choirs, and special guest - it was a very big day each year in Chesterfield County.  It was a tradition that started on Memorial Day of May 10, 1867.  The tradition ended in 1961.

But there was more to the telling.  Pat and Murdoch told me not only of those days but about the old Confederate veterans who were in attendance, quietly standing among children.  Murdoch looked at me and said that as children, those veterans seemed so old to us back then.  Now we are the old soldiers standing here.

That was my favorite moment during our reunion.

Finlayson Family Reunion 1997, Cheraw, South Carolina

long drive through a short weekend

Nothing much to say about this weekend.  We checked the kids out from school and drove-drove-drove.  The kids are great travelers.  We arrived around midnight at my sister Jennie's house in Fort Mill, SC.

There we hooked up with other family members, Mom, Brooky & Cindy.  Not much time to visit with each other...short or chopped-off conversations.  Little time to really  rest during the weekend.

We drove to Pat's funeral at Old St. David's Church.  It was a beautiful morning to see Pat off.  I took about 15 minutes to walk around downtown Cheraw with Katie.  There was little time for anything, but appreciative for the moments that I had.

We had to make too many stops back home to Alabama on Sunday.  We arrived in Etowah County as the sun was setting.  It was a good sleep last night after returning home.  I am very tired though...very tired.

While driving home I kept thinking how much I will miss uncle Pat.  We will no longer e-mail each other, no longer write each other, no longer talk on the phone.  Like my father - I will no longer see his sweet smiling face on this Earth again.  I will see him one day though.

Pat & Westbrook Finlayson

melancholy morning

December 28, 1920 - April 28, 2011

Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson, all of Westbrook's kids called him Uncle Pat.  All his siblings and friends called him Ainsworth.

Jennie called me this morning with the news that Uncle Pat passed away during the night.  This one hurts.  I'm sure it affects all my siblings on the same level.  Pat was a sweet and lovable fellow.  He is loved and will be missed.  He is well now. 

A few years ago, on this blog, I posted stories about Pat's wartime experiences aboard the USS LST-312.  Anyone who has kept up with this blog has come across his name on many occasions.  A while back my niece Sara Noojin had interviewed Pat for a school project.  I thought it well written and thought you all might appreciate reading it.

A+ for Sara

Yo, Narcissus

Gen Y's Most Perilous Trait?

The effort to improve a child's self-esteem has backfired.  I've been looking at studies where the younger Generation Y (aka: Millennial Generation) is self-absorbed, self-entitled, with an excessive helping self-regard.  Often rudeness is a trait of the Gen Y'er.  I hope you guys grow up to prove us old timer's wrong.  In the meantime, if you want the respect - show some respect.  If you want to get somewhere - do the work.  Your opinions really doesn't count for much - especially the snarky ones.  Snark doesn't compensate for lack of wisdom or facts. You really don't know how absurd you look from here.  Walk on down this road of life a little more and then we'll talk.

last place - where to next?

Last week I finished the story 'Places' off-line.  What you've read since September 19, 2010 was the first draft.  I don't know what I'm going to do with the story.  I have been thinking about starting another - a different kind of tale.  It might be from a Zombie dream I had last winter, a dream that was delivered with a great outline and unusual twist.  The only thing that the dream did not provide me with was a clear ending.  I am confident I can come up with one.  The other idea is a book I started writing over two decades ago that I never finished - about a serial killer.  The later is 'Dark Savior' which started out to be a novel, but after writing 'Places', I may revisit the old text and whittle it down to a novella.

'Places' isn't really that long of a read.   My good friend Dr. Clay Rowe was kind enough to help edit much of this book.  He stated on several occasions that I might want to beef up the noir a little if it's ever to be published.  I thought about it, but feel that the story has a nice pace to it.  I don't really see expanding it.  There's some stuff that I left out of the telling, and think it appropriate to leave into it a little mystery.  The story is what it is.  The story has been  told.


Some of my favorite reads as a young man were the short stories of O' Henry, Edgar Allen Poe and Robert Benchley.  I also enjoyed pulp fiction as a young man - books my brother had collected on his bookshelf.  I leaped from comic books to The Man of Bronze: Doc Savage!  It proved to be great reading for a Saturday morning and afternoon.  I read a lot of pulp that Brooky had left in his wake.

In a roundabout way, Clay has helped me to keep writing.  What if I kept pouring out short stories, novellas and simply combine as a collective work?  This way I wouldn't have to bulk up a story, but rather give the reader more stories to peruse?

My mind then went to how Steven King combined four very different stories in Different Seasons.  Three of the four stories were turned into motion pictures, Rita Hayworth and The Shawshank Redemption (Shawshank Redemption, The Body (Stand By Me), and Apt Pupil (Apt Pupil).  At the time King was writing  nothing but horror.  These stories were a completely different offering.  Different Seasons is one of my favorite of King's works.  I recommend you reading this book, even if you've seen the movies.  As always, the book is better than the movie.

At present, I don't really know where to go next.  I have this idea, but will probably take a break from writing another story...just do a little posting to cleanse my palate.  As of late, business has taken most of my time and attention.  I finished Places in my spare time late at night - early mornings - determined to finish what I had started.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed following Johnny Hale's black and white narrative - but I need to a little time to reset.  This break is also going to be used to polish the story I just finished.  At present, the manuscript is in the hands of my neighbors - one being an FBI agent.   I am looking forward to getting some technical advice and some editing/feedback from the story from them.  I'm sure I'll be doing some rewrites when they hand it back to me.  There's also some family members that I'd like to read it.

So for now I'm going to revert to what I did before.  I've missed making the day to day random posting.  I'll change the banner from the blog-noir back to Long Journey Home (or something else) and post about life as it comes.  You'll know when it's time for another story when the banner changes.  I hope you enjoyed the read.

P.S.  If you've read the blog-noir posts of Places, did you enjoy it?  Was it difficult to read?  Was the trail hard to follow?  I'd appreciate your feedback - any constructive criticism.

the little man

I saw that someone had been tailing me for three blocks. It was a lone figure trailing behind me. I drove a few more blocks just to make sure it was me he was after. It was.

I picked up a little speed to gain some distance, but not enough to make him think that I had caught on to him. I didn't see any other cars dogging me so I decided I was going to take a chance and let this guy catch up. I found a spot, a park not too far from an alley.  I quickly pulled in and exited the car. I walked across the street and went into the alley as if it had been original intended destination.

Once in the alley, I ran a good piece, and found cover. It was a good place to watch and wait. 

My shadow caught up with me within a few minutes. I first saw his small silhouette appear at the entrance of the alley. He had put out his cigarette on the sidewalk, lowered a hand into a pocket. It was obvious what he was reaching for.

I watched him walk the entire way toward me. All the debris in the alley, to my advantage, made it impossible for my stalker to see me. At one point he felt confident enough away from the bustling sidewalk behind him to pull out his gun.  He held it in front of him - ready to fire at a moment's notice.  He seemed a little on the jumpy side. I couldn't blame him.

I had my gun out too, but I wasn't feeling jumpy. Finally he reached the area where I was hiding, he gazed around, and moved passed me. Ten steps forward, if he looked around again, he could have a good gander at me. It was my turn to introduce myself.

I used both hands and aimed the gun dead center of his back. I couldn't miss.

"Drop it!" 

He didn't have time to respond. He knew if he moved to shoot, he'd be dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"Drop your gun now!"

The man was rather small in stature - not very threatening. I saw his revolver hit the brick surface. He slowly raised his hands to shoulder level.

"You're following me." 

"Why yes - yes I have - how very observant of you."

For a man that had had the drop on him, he didn't seem to alarmed or fearful.

"I didn't come to harm you Mr. Hale." 

"Doesn't seem like that's going to happen anyway." 

To my surprise he knew my name and I was flummoxed as to how he knew. He turned and faced me slowly. 

"Stay where you are mister - you know me but I don't know you!"

"Oh, please excuse me for not introducing myself. My name is Valentine, Clarence Valentine. I am a private detective. I was employed to find you - and give you a message."

"You found me."

"Yes - I'm quite good at my job."

Valentine started to reach into his pocket.

"That's not a good idea."

"I was only going to give you my calling card."

"I'll get it myself - move over there and stand facing the wall."

I frisked him and made sure he wasn't packing anything else. I also checked his wallet. He was who he said he was. 

"I don't have a lot of patience, and you're in a very bad situation. Who hired you?"

"I'm sorry, the little man smiled a creepy little smile, "I can't divulge that information to you."

"I can make you."

"That would be most unfortunate, and besides, you know very well who hired me."

"I have a vague idea."

"Like I said, I was sent to find you, to give you a message by the man you know as The Russian. It's my understanding that you've been in his neighborhood going door to door selling matches."

"What's the message?" I pushed firmly.

"There's no reason to be so rough Johnny.  I am of no threat to you whatsoever."

"I doubt that."

He slowly reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"This is for you - an address."


I looked at the paper and recognized the address scribbled on it. It was one listed in Clayton's book.

"This is a trap."

Valentine looked up at me - I didn't like his calm demeanor.

"But of course it's a trap."

"What am I supposed to do with this - I'm no idiot!"

"No Johnny, I am a good judge of people and can clearly tell that you are indeed not an idiot...but you will go."

"Why's that?"

"Does the name Camille mean anything to you?"

Within a split second I knew that he saw in my face that the name definitely meant something to me. He saw in my face fear and desperation.  He probably witnessed the color of my flesh turn pale."They have Camille, and if you aren't at this address by six o'clock tonight, she will die."

Valentine's calm demeanor quickly faded as I shoved my gun into his mouth and to the back of his choking throat.

Now it's my turn to see his flesh turn pale.